


Rescue

by EmilyTT



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Blood, mental pain, post torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 11:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10966185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilyTT/pseuds/EmilyTT
Summary: Some people can't be saved, even if they are physically.Set post season two, but only a few months post it.





	Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> AN: not really sure where this came from. This may have come from another concept I read, but if it is, I can't remember. Kinda just scrabbled this down just now while procrastinating working on my other projects. Anyways, this one is kinda just weird.
> 
> Hints of traught, birdflash, and saltwater(is that the KaldurXRobin/Nightwing ship name?)

We bust into the old warehouse. Creaks and explosions of dust shooting in every direction follow in our wake. My eyes are instantly drawn to the rusty, old metal pole that looks suspiciously red left purposely next to the door on the bottom floor. The wind howls outside, sending unease up our bodies. I hear rather than see Robin’s already tight grip on his bo staff clench even harder. I imagine his knuckles are white beneath all that armor and mind going into overdrive beneath that carefully crafted, artificial mask that he hides behind.

I draw an arrow, notching the bow as we work our way toward a rusty old staircase. Kaldur signals for me and Robin to scale across the catwalk while the rest of the elite rescue team consisting of Bart, Blue, Batgirl, Conner, and M’gann continue their way down the stairs. Blue’s body is tense as though he is aware that something is off, but if he is, he doesn’t speak of it. In fact, the mind link is completely blank; no one has even spoken since we landed at this warehouse.

My blood begins to boil as Robin and I reach the end of the catwalk, and we silently leap down to the first floor, rolling with the fall so as to not make any noise. Whispering echoes around the room and I flash a discrete glance at the Boy Wonder. He hasn’t so much as even twitched an ear, so I know the small nick from the glass on my arm made when I crept through the window had to be laced with something. But that can wait. I have a friend to rescue right now.

Trained ears inform me that someone is behind me, so I whirl around, arrow and bow drawn; feet set and ready to fight. Batgirl tips her head at me, and I relax. Then I nod. I’m fine. Everyone else emerges from the shadows and all shake their heads. They haven’t been successful yet either. Robin opens his mouth to say something when we hear a low groaning noise coming from the far side of the warehouse. Robin and Batgirl turn their flashlights on at the same exact moment and all of our eyes are bugging out of our sockets.

The form stood in a staggered heap, its arms held above its head by corroded chains that lead somewhere up into the ceiling up above. The form completes another slow spin and bile leaps up at the back of my throat at the thought of how much force had been used for the body to still be spinning even five minutes after the torturer had left.

Shackles hold tight to too-thin wrists and dried blood is caking the figure’s pale arms, the shackles themselves coated in what must be a few layers of dry blood. Blood is slowly leaking from a probable stab wound to the ribcage. Its chest is bare and revealing a repulsive array of bruises, cuts, and scars. Some wounds are fresh but many are old. A nasty discoloring all across his stomach and lower chest catches my attention the most, quickly followed by the clammy skin and puddle of vomit inches in front of his feet and the quick, but barely lifting chest that indicates his thin grasp on life.

I take this all in within a second, but Robin beats me to the chase, rushing forward and analyzing the shackles holding the form up. M’gann staggers behind me and Batgirl gasps. I join Robin at the figure’s side, my mind going haywire, just as I’m sure his is.

My fingers trace up to his neck. His pulse is beating very quickly but also very weakly. It’s also that this moment that I notice how cold his body is, and this scares me more than almost anything. It doesn’t feel right looking at a man I’ve grown up beside and watched become a strong, fierce, and devoted leader now the exact opposite. A faint plopping noise brings me back to the present and it seems I blacked out for a few seconds because everyone is less than a pace behind me and Robin.

The figure slowly lifts its head, a dead, lifeless look in what were once brilliant and mischievous and beautiful blue eyes. They’ve lost their life, light, and sun, leaving behind a blank look that hurts more than any wound. Somewhere deep within those blue depths, a flicker of recognition is reflected as he makes eye contact with me, but it dissipates before I can do anything. A dull blue eye quickly shuts as blood trails down from a wound on his forehead and it looks like a river is racing down his face and mingling with the pool below.

Black pupils dilate, almost engulfing baby blue and I slump back, grateful when it’s Conner that I crash into.

I stumble away from them all, my own demons rising in my mind. Kaldur joins me and I know he must be thinking the same thing that I am now. We both collapse to our knees, hands up and covering our faces. M’gann’s touch disappears from my mind, and we both flash her grateful smiles, glad we can at least protect our friends from the horrors of our minds.

Protection from Deathstroke. Protection from knowing this is our fault. Protection from learning that we could have prevented this. Protection from us knowing Deathstroke is very smart and would want revenge on our -my- betrayal to him. Protection from knowing we knew he was capable of finding out who orchestrated the betrayal and who he really was. Protection from knowing we knew Deathstroke was free and would want revenge, and yet we still let _him_ take a leave of absence while grieving and without any supervision to make sure he was okay.

I look back and tears burn my eyes as his eyes simply stare straight through me, as though he isn’t even aware that he’s even alive or aware of his own presence in this universe. His lonely eyes keep scanning them over as though trying to find something to latch onto, and when they don’t, blank blue eyes dim even more if at all possible. I choke back a sob, knowing exactly who he was looking for. But you can’t show a dead person a dead person…

And then his head falls back down, Robin leaning down and desperately calling out his name. But I know he won’t respond.

Nightwing is dead.

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Like I said... this one was weird. And he's not actually dead. Just like... dead on the inside.


End file.
